Chimera
by Bobo Peterson
Summary: They had spent years locked in Alphys' basement prison, repenting for the crime of living after death. Haunted by their experiences, the Amalgamates struggle to adjust to a world that views them as either demons or gods. What place is there for a Frankenstein's monster with a victim's face? Amalgamate-centric. Post-True Pacifist ending.
1. Chimera

**Chimera**

 **Summary** : She had suffered so much since their mother passed away. She had dedicated her life to taking care of her little sister. Given up hope of ever seeing the sun. Even the dust had failed to take her, abandoning her to an eternity of torment with the person she had once loathed. She was a chimera, a harbinger of disaster.

 **Author's Notes:** heavily inspired by the song "Your Rain" by Akira Yamaoka. Mary Elizabeth McGlynn is my headcanon for Shyren and her sister's singing voice.

Wrote this over the course of a particularly sleep-deprived week, so it's a little unpolished.

* * *

"What are you doing in the dark? can I join you? ; )" Aaron nudged a dimly glowing mushroom nestled in a ceramic pot. It brightened with a curt squeak, blanching a corner of the room in pearlescent light.

The imposing figure standing against the wall came to life, her many pupils constricting to adjust to the change. She hissed wetly at him, teeth buckled outwards.

"It's okay, Yeast," she soothed. "It's just Aaron. He's not going to touch us."

Yeast wasn't its actual name – Moldbygg people didn't name their children the way other monsters did, knowing one another through unique movements. Having been forced into the same body, though, that wasn't an option for them when she could barely control her muscle spasms.

"How's my bro doing today, Lemon Bread? hope you two haven't been doing anything fun without me ; )" Aaron froze when her shoulders lifted in a silent threat.

Her collar bones formed sharp furrows in her neck, sinking into place as her teeth slowly retracted back into her head. Yeast was being rather testy today.

"Doing better. He might even speak soon." She attempted to smile, the action reflected weakly on her face. A familiar warmth coated her body, and she gave a shuddering breath as if disturbed by the circulation of her own blood. She felt Brad's awakening through the leaking pores of her skin.

She didn't know if falling down had changed Brad or if those horrific years they had spent trapped in the Doctor's basement laboratory shattered what was left of him. He had once been like his twin brother Aaron, unfailingly confident but nearly twice as aggressive. She remembered him being especially callous towards her sister. These days, he relegated his existence to a foggy recess of her mind, emerging only when he ached for simple affection. His faint presence still proved overwhelming at times, a broken dam of disjointed thoughts, memories, sensations.

Aaron returned her gesture with a smile of his own, one she thought looked a little sad. "Brought you some food. It's your favorite ; )"

He plopped a damp paper bag by her feet, and Yeast pounced before she could harness enough control in her trembling hands to open it. She disemboweled it in a single chomp, flustering when she noticed the mess that had spilled onto the floor. Woshua would more than happily clean it up later, but she still felt a loss at the wasted food. She would have dusted someone for a Waterfallian meal during the days they were fed only dry dog kibble and raw instant noodles.

Mussels. Those were actually Brad's favorite, but she appreciated the thought, anyway. Aaron could actually be sweet when he wanted to be, offering to look after her while her superstar sister was on tour. The Moldbyggs had wanted nothing to do with her after migrating to the surface, remaining true to their solitary natures. Their cousins, the Moldsmals, were far too jelly-brained to handle her occasional episodes.

Her spine wrenched at the insult, and she murmured an apology to Yeast in her head. She could block them out for a short while, usually when she was angry at them. Otherwise, they were constantly exposed to one another's thoughts and emotions. There could be no secrets between them, no lies. Brad and Yeast knew all of the insecurities that she had kept hidden from everyone else, including her sister. They knew the intensity of her self-hatred, felt it, and she had nearly lost herself in the bedlam of their communal mental space. She would have gone completely feral from grief if it hadn't been for Dr. Alphys' interference.

Sharing a body proved strangely enlightening at times. She had never been good at giving instructions until she became the dominant personality of their unlikely trio. She had also been terribly shy, a trait her family was known for back in their hometown, but now she could communicate in ways that transcended audible language.

Dr. Alphys had been equal parts impressed and horrified by how coherent she was. She could even read, a feat none of the other Amalgamates accomplished. She felt a little pride on her part was warranted, having been the one to teach them how to sync their reading pace and comprehend ideas together. Their efforts had left every book on Alphys' shelf sticky with lemon-scented perspiration, each page permed and crinkly to the touch. She had taught her other parts how to read sheet music as well, yet she had never heard either of them sing.

 _Maybe someday_ , she thought shyly. She sensed a short laugh, unheard but felt in her chest. She had to smile at Brad's playfulness, still a part of him no matter how broken he was. He seemed to appreciate her understanding, his awareness felt as a tightening in her biceps.

She was a student as much as she was a teacher. Yeast possessed its family's natural talent for transformation, and she had grasped retaining and changing her shape long before the other Amalgamates did. The day she discovered that the slit on her stomach wasn't a belly button was the same day she learned all about the brood pouch, much to her embarrassment rather than Brad's.

Every small success was felt by all of them. Every nightmare was a day-after spent reminding one another why they chose to be alive with their families. They were **determined** to make something out of this life on the surface, even if it meant learning to do so together.

"i got a surprise for you. You wanna guess what it is? ; )" asked Aaron, mischief barely contained in his smile.

She would have felt unsettled by his approach before, but she had lived with him long enough to grow accustomed to his mannerisms. She found them nearly endearing now, or maybe that was just Brad's fondness contaminating her thoughts. Sometimes, she had difficulty discerning where her feelings ended and the others' began. "Is it your muscles?"

"haha no but close ; )" Aaron bounced aside. "Look who came to see you ; )"

Shyren appeared at the doorway, looking slightly flustered at the reveal. She still wore the purple streak in her hair from her most recent show. She looked so unlike herself with her lips tinted black, eyes capped by a dramatic streak of pink and purple that was at least an inch tall. "D—Do you like—?"

Lemon Bread guessed it was MTT's new _Scales_ line, the first make-up set geared towards aquatic folk that didn't involve sequined fishhooks. Her mouth cooperated easily, lifting into a toothy grin. Brad and Yeast must have been similarly awestruck by her appearance. "You look beautiful."

The compliment echoed in her many voices, prompting Shyren to mask her face with her fins. "T—Thank you."

Aaron nodded his head approvingly before taking up her luggage. He filed into the adjoining guest room, pondering over how she managed to carry her bags to the doorstep without any fingers. Spooky. "so how long are you stayin over? ; )"

Shyren remained facing forward, her gaze fixed on her sister. "A—A— Two weeks. Something happened, and— M—Metta thought we'd be safer—" He had cheerfully deemed it a surprise vacation, courtesy of himself.

Dread poisoned her senses, causing Yeast to stretch her back defensively. She was certain even Brad sensed her concern, feeling him emerge from his corner. She appeared tall, menacing. "Is anyone hurt?"

Shyren shifted her entire body, imitating a shake of her head. "N—No. Undyne was— Metta says we might hire nice h—humans to guard us."

"why would they attack you guys? Humans love us ; )" Aaron drifted into the room, seemingly unfazed by the news. "Yeah, I did a little reading on their ancient human beliefs. They used to worship us ; )"

"They fear and hate us…" A plaintiveness layered Lemon Bread's many voices. "All of their demons look like us." According to human lore, she was a chimera, an omen that preceded mass death. At best, she was an object of perverse fascination or pity.

"Their angels look like us too ; )" Aaron smiled reassuringly, albeit smugly. "Bro, you should totally come with during my next filming of _The Broccult_. You can guest star in the newest ep ; )"

"You've found another 'haunted' house?" The Amalgamate tried to express bemusement, a complicated feat given that her face, mostly Yeast, was being rebellious today.

"Yeah, like way haunted. I'll protect you tho ; )" He gave pause. "Shy can tag along, too, if she wants. Be my celebrity co-star ; )"

"O—Oh. Okay. M—Maybe…" Shyren, the internationally famous vocalist and monster model, flushed bright blue at being included. "I— If sis is going," she added quietly.

"It would be fun," she answered, experiencing a nauseous blend of Brad's approval and Yeast's disgust. They had gone rooting through a condemned burger joint last time, and Aaron went screaming out of the building after a chicken nugget fell on his tail. This was after throwing some heavy trash talk at the "ghosts", something about a child eating ice cream out of a garbage dump cooler. She had ended up hunched over the counter, her voices screaming in laughter to the point her face nearly melted off.

"haha nice. The Bro Cult is going to be so into this ; )" Aaron seemed pleased at the mention of his fans on OverTube, most of them humans. There were some monsters who resented him for making them look like fools, but Brad's memories had convinced her that there couldn't be any genuine malice behind her new brother's oblivious ways. It wasn't as if he were faking his reactions, either, despite the many accusations from strangers on the Internet. He really was a big, soft scaredy horse.

Their forays into abandoned buildings were some of the few times she could be outside without hurting anyone. Without being hurt _by_ anyone. Most humans averted their eyes and pretended she didn't exist, attempting to be polite about her grotesque condition. Countless others came at her looking to fight, trying to provoke her into violence so that they could validate their reasons for hating her. Some even lapsed into full-blown anxiety attacks upon catching sight of her – she felt particularly awful about those times, shutting herself in her room for weeks afterwards.

Mankind hadn't been completely disappointing. There were humans who were so horrendously kind that it left her in tears. She loved looking at all the art people made of her on her _Broccult_ adventures, portraying her as the deadpan foil to an easily startled Aaron. The silly comments people would leave for her on each episode made her feel wanted, as pathetic and ridiculous as it was. Even a monster among monsters had a place in the world, a place among other people.

A gentle touch grazed her shoulder, and she wasn't sure if it was Brad or Yeast reaching out to her. It burned.

"D—Do you think we'll find any?" piped Shyren, attempting to make conversation. Lemon Bread was glad to see her sister regaining her voice after so long. Soon, Blook wouldn't have to do her interviews for her anymore.

"Find any what? ; )" asked Aaron, dropping a juicy wink in her direction.

Shyren hesitated. "U— Um, ghosts?"

"Dude, we've found tons of ghosts! Right, bro? ; )" He beamed.

"Yes," she agreed. She centered her eyes on Shyren, who nodded conspiratorially.

"So where— Where is it?" Shyren's voice tapered into a whisper. "I hope it's not too s— scary."

"Get this. A haunted school ; )" Aaron's one open eye rounded in bravado, and he crossed his heavily muscled arms over his chest. "No need to be scared, Shy. Your big bro A-Horse won't let any ghosts mess with you ; )"

Shyren blushed, more at Aaron referring to himself as "A-Horse" rather than anything else. "Ms. Toriel's?"

"Yeah, it's major haunted. I have a sense for these things ; )" His smile faltered, and a nervous sweat beaded on his torso.

"M—Maybe Frisk could—" suggested Shyren. "They go there…"

"Oh man, that's a killer idea! You, Ambassador Frisk, and my bro, Lemon Brad. This is going to be a very special episode ; )" Aaron's expression reverted to an idle smile as he made a line for the door. "I have to go get my equipment ready, if you know what I mean. You two gonna be okay by yourselves? ; )"

"We'll survive," she replied flatly. The pulsations of her muscles eased, a sign that Yeast was beginning to relax.

"All right, just checkin. Call me if you bros want to go for a swim later ; )" He wound himself around the doorway, giving a final wink before disappearing into the hallway. "Or if you're just feeling lonely ; )"

Shyren sighed. "I'm happy to be home again."

"Me, too." Her other voices seemed to agree, carrying her words around the room.

"Did— Did the Doctor's visit go well?" asked Shyren, a thread of urgency in her voice.

"Yes." It saddened her to see her little sister so involved with her struggles, as if she didn't have enough to worry about. "She said it will be very dangerous."

The corners of Shyren's mouth softened, but she remained smiling. "So it's not going to happen?"

"That's up to us. It's just— Some parts of us will be missing afterwards." Assuming they survived. A single monster couldn't possibly withstand a dose of determination, which they needed if they hoped to get through the operation. The Doctor would have to craft individual bodies from what little physical matter they still had between them. She wondered it if meant living without her tail or her esca or maybe her voice. She couldn't imagine never being able to sing again, never sharing another duet with her sister.

"O—Oh." Shyren's gaze dipped. She mumbled. "Metta says the humans are helping Dr. Alphys make something called 'prosthetics'."

"Is… that supposed to be an acronym?" Professional aesthetics? It sounded like it would be perfect for Mettaton.

"Humans sometimes lose parts of themselves, too. S—So doctors make them new parts." Was that how it worked? Shyren hoped she was explaining everything correctly. "The humans are amazing. They can grow hearts in tanks."

"I just hope I don't wake up looking like Mettaton." She envisioned her little fish body teetering on a pair of long, shapely legs. Laughter bubbled up inside her, and she wondered whom it belonged to.

"Um," her sister went silent, studying her face. "If you do go through with it, what are you going to do afterwards?"

"I don't know." This wasn't the life on the surface Lemon Bread had dreamed for herself when she was a fingerling or when Brad was a colt or when Yeast was a spore. Yet, she couldn't recall a time when she had ever been so happy. She used to think that her body was her personal gibbet, the universe's way of punishing her for falling down and leaving her sister to fend for herself. Now, it terrified her to imagine being all by herself after so long.

A familiar warmth enveloped her shaking hand. She made a weak fist, as if trying to trap the feeling between her fingers. It still burned her, but she knew then that she would never be alone.

"You could always come with us. We could use more back-up singers." Shyren shot her a hopeful glance. "I miss singing together."

"Thank you, but I was thinking about becoming a therapist." Her fingers clenched tightly around an unseen object. It was the first time she could completely close her hand. "There's already a doctor that can heal monster bodies. I'd like to heal monster souls."

Shyren broke into a huge smile. "That's— That's so wonderful."

"It's so corny." If she wasn't such a shambling, traumatized mess, she was sure Undyne would have teased her for being such a mushy nerd.

"But it's wonderful that you want to help people." Shyren's voice grew soft. "A—All I do is sing."

"But your singing gives us hope." Her voices echoed in agreement. "All of us, monsters and humans."

Shyren resigned herself with a sigh. "Frisk really changed things for us, didn't they? M—Maybe we could ask Aaron to dedicate this episode to them."

She smiled, thankful for Yeast's compliance. She could feel it smiling, too, in its own way. "We should."

She had suffered so much since their mother passed away. She had dedicated her life to taking care of her little sister. Given up hope of ever seeing the sun. Even the dust had failed to take her, abandoning her to an eternity of torment with the person she had once loathed. She was a chimera, a harbinger of disaster.

Yet despite everything, she had survived it all. She had learned to forgive her enemies, to forgive herself. To some, she was a protector, a healer, and a guardian of new beginnings.

Aaron was right. The humans' angels looked like them.


	2. Chimera - Phase II

**Chimera – Phase II**

 **Author's Notes** : a special thanks to my reviewers for encouraging me to continue with this story. I was initially going to leave this as a one-shot, but I've decided to turn it into a collection of stories about the Amalgamates. As of this writing, Undertale is still only few months old and likely to receive updates, so I think there's still a lot of possibilities to explore!

* * *

She could separate the badness from a person. Make it surface with a stare like a hellish form of telepathy. Others became string dolls around her – when she pulled, they spoke their lines and danced.

The terrible things they would do and say to her, to themselves, had made her wish for the dust many times.

Slushdrake couldn't conjure up a worse punishment. Her only functions in life had been reduced to causing everyone pain, to being in pain. Only dreams of her family and the faint remembrance of her own laughter had kept her from allowing herself to be absorbed by the others like a tree overtaken by weeds.

Yet, because of her _vege-telepathy_ , her _plum-pulsion_ , her _rind control_ (ha!) – she could make people tell her their secrets. She might not have been able to remember where her eyes had once been, but her vision had never been clearer. Where people saw only the peak, she noticed the glacier lurking underneath the dark surface of the water. It made it awfully difficult for people to lie to her, even by omission, though she wondered if exaggeration still counted as lying.

Humans often believed that monsters couldn't experience pain like they did, that there wasn't a countless number of them barely coping on a daily basis. To her kind, depression was treated like a legitimate illness, one which could spread and cause many monsters to "fall down" at once. Sometimes, those stray feelings overwhelmed her even as a wife and a mother, yet she had found herself trying to care for all of her fellow sufferers.

She remembered Lemon Bread in particular, a Waterfallian prisoner that spoke in many whispers and liked to sleep in the laboratory's bathtub. She had sensed three different monsters in her, all of them near-children. The dominant voice of the trio had belonged to a young sirenfish, soft-spoken but unbelievably strong. Then there was the Moldbygg, vicious in its dislike of its other parts but occasionally polite. She had almost missed the third personality, either a capricorn or a hippocamp-type monster, who had never spoken but possessed a small gleam of humor even within the chaos.

Maybe it was the thought that Snowy would have been the same in their situation, that he would have tried to continue living through the pain – it made her care for someone again, made her forget her own suffering for a while. She had nearly adopted the other Amalgamate as her own, even providing her company on the days she could hold a conversation. It lessened the gutting isolation of the laboratory, the years spent shambling around in the dark.

Like a good mother, she'd shed a few roots and greens for their meals, usually when they couldn't force down that day's chewy rations of dog food casserole. Was it considered cannibalism? She had decided not to present that possibility to the troubled trio, not that she could have even if she had wanted to. Most days, she had felt as if she were drifting between consciousness and being asleep, her thoughts cutting out and reforming like buds on her skin.

She had also been fond of her old neighbors from Snowdin, who had returned as a singular mass of slobbering affection. They remained just as she had remembered, satisfied with little but excited by much. Despite her grotesque form, they hadn't forgotten her in the years she and her family had lived in Hotland, meeting her with daunting jumps on their hind legs and flecks of dirt-colored spit. She had endeavored to pet them when she had enough control over her limbs, even if they took to chewing on her occasionally. She had sometimes found them curled up next to the exhaust fans, their head laid low but not sleeping.

The Seer, an urbanite hailing from the Core, had disturbed her with the nauseating intensity of its self-love and self-loathing. Of all the Amalgamates, it seemed to be the only one of them who was… happy? No, _elated_ about its current state. There was a vile part of it that loved to cause pain, and two others that could only understand pain. It was such a wretched state of existence that even she couldn't help but feel sad for it.

It had showed her such terrible dreams. She had experienced visions of convulsing monsters being eaten alive by insects, limbs dripping from headless bodies – sometimes, it had even attacked her, as if trying to provoke a retaliation. She had never obliged it, fearing that she wouldn't be able to call herself a mother afterwards.

The Men Who Live in the Sink. The Man Who Lives in the Sink? She couldn't gauge if they were truly one or many, only that there was something terribly unfortunate about them. She would notice her fingers beginning to wilt after hearing their voice, as if their presence awakened a lethal fear even within the stoic Vegetoids.

They had been different from the other prisoners, her mind unable to cast them into deceased parents or lost loves or depressed siblings. She could only make out a room of wavering faces, blanched white, completely unlike any monster or human she had ever encountered in her life. They would speak to her in glib smiles, offering promises of everlasting leisure and torment. "Come join the fun. Stay still. It's a real get-together. Stay still. You'll be with us shortly. Stay still. Stay still."

She had endeavored to stay far, far away from them, which meant avoiding the main lobby entirely. Whenever she had felt thirsty (which was nearly constant, given her sixteen plant-based neighbors), she only had to drag herself a short distance past the AV room to the bathtub. She remembered that she used to apologize a lot for waking Lemon Bread, despite the legion of voices assuring her that she didn't mind. She almost missed those days, the warm familiarity of the routine and the gesture, even though they still kept in touch.

"Slush." Her husband's voice summoned her many eyes to the door of their log cabin. Her vision was like a kaleidoscope, and she saw many versions of him arranged in a lattice. "How're ya feelin', Slush?"

She didn't have to turn her body to face him. "B— Better, dear. How was w— w— work?"

"You know how they are. A crowd with more humans than monsters is bound to have some hecklahs, but I set 'em straight." Frostdrake missed Hotland, and she could tell. Monster humor didn't translate well to most people unless they were already considered weird by other humans.

She missed the excitement of city life sometimes, but living out in the frozen wilderness did wonders for her condition. She was never thirsty with the abundance of snow around, and the plummeting temperatures lulled the Vegetoids into a state of near-hibernation. She delighted at being able to hear her own thoughts again, though the constant feeling of pins and needles often made it difficult for her to sleep at night.

"How was your walk today?" he asked.

"I s— saw Mr. Doggo again. He's a good boy." She spent mornings embarking on small treks through the village, finding little else she could do with such meager control of herself. People would have been terrified of her as usual if it weren't for the stern-mannered husky, who insisted on accompanying her so that she wouldn't end up lost. (Though, she often ended up having to keep _him_ from running into trees or walking over brittle lakes.) She felt bad whenever she saw snow gathering on his bare arms, but he always insisted that he wasn't cold. "How's Snowy?"

"Snow's doin' plenty good, though. I'm proud of 'im," continued Frost as he set aside some water for her evening tea. "Can you believe he's goin' to school with the humans? Wow, imagine that! And they love 'im! They love his jokes!" It had surprised both of them how the humans seemed to riot over puns. Apparently, being insulted and called a variety of expletives afterwards meant that it was funny.

"I'm… happy." Her son had become even more capable since his brief stint as a runaway, and he made friends so easily. They trusted him enough to let him attend Toriel's school closer to the mountain, to be around other monsters and humans his age. "T— They're not so bad, the humans."

"I guess not." The look in his eyes shifted, and she could visibly watch her powers take effect like a toxin. "No, I hate them," he admitted in a different voice. "I hate how they treat us. They'd rather have all of us dead."

He blinked, then hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Their human neighbors tended to give her a wide berth, not that she blamed them. Her appearance evoked horror from even her own kind, and everyone in town knew of her cursed ability to force the truth out of people. One of the worst days of her life happened when she found out that the humans were filming a horror movie about Alphys' prisoners, as if her condition was a source of entertainment or horror for the humans.

The smug filmmakers had tried to skate by on the excuse that it wasn't a movie about them specifically, even though it involved humans being hunted down by grotesque monsters released from a secret laboratory inside a mountain. There were many humans that didn't care or had even hoped that the movie would incite violence against them. Sometimes, it was difficult to cope feeling that a majority of the world hated her and her family so much. Humans seemed like they could barely stand one another, much less monsters.

Yet, she wasn't ready to give up on them. Even if she hadn't met any herself, she didn't doubt that there were other people in the world like Frisk. They protested on her behalf, placed their trust in her without even knowing her. The humans were often fickle, self-important, and disingenuous, but they were trying.

"Here, have somethin' to drink, hun." Frost held a cup of tea to one of her mouths, and she reached up to grip it herself. Her oozing wings seemed to evaporate, releasing wisps of steam as she touched the hot porcelain surface.

"T— Thank you," she answered softly, her faces forming lopsided smiles. She barely had sensation in her limbs, but at least she was no longer feeling the overwhelming cold that had once plagued her. The cabin remained well-heated at all times, and she almost felt comfortable. "Honey… What do you t— think—? Surgery?"

"I don't know," he answered, trying to seem occupied by cleaning his glasses. Again, she watched the switch overtake him. He suddenly sounded worried. "I don't want ya to die, Slush."

Alphys' research team had thoroughly explained to them that the extent of her condition was complex, even in comparison to the other Amalgamates. Most of them consisted of three monsters at most, five in the case of her dog neighbors, but she was a miraculously functioning system of seventeen creatures. If they cut her apart, they couldn't guarantee that any trace of her would remain.

"Doctors might say I'm going into a _vegetative_ state!" She laughed weakly. It seemed so horribly funny to her, even if she had found dark humor unpleasant before. Her eyes would have been brimming with comical tears if she hadn't already eaten them. They'd grow back eventually, smelling of sliced-open radishes.

"Slush…" Still, a small smile appeared on Frost's beak. He wiped his eyes.

"D— Don't cry. I'll be okay." She hadn't decided whether or not to go through with the procedure. If she survived, she would be different. The thought frightened her so much that she could feel the Vegetoids rousing from their sleep. She heard their hissing laughter beginning to cloud her mind, and she had to will them back into silence.

She feared for poor Lemon Bread, most of all. It was inevitable that she would accept the offer, being the youngest and having the least amount of monsters inside herself. She was the prime candidate for the first Amalgamate separation surgery, and there was an unfathomable amount of pressure on Dr. Alphys to succeed. She couldn't imagine what would happen to everyone – her, Lemon Bread's family, Alphys, and the rest of monsterkind – if they didn't survive it.

"It's selfish. So selfish." Frost put on his glasses. "To expect ya to be in pain like that, all the time. But I'm not ready to lose ya again, Slush. Snow's not ready."

"I know," she replied sadly.

She had struggled endlessly to keep from losing herself to her other minds. Unlike most other monsters, Vegetoids functioned more like parasites rather than sentient creatures, born to complete their pre-programmed duty of being eaten by others. Even when at the cost of their own lives, they seemed to revel in the feeling of being torn apart by teeth, burned by stomach acid. The cold kept their impulses from influencing her, but she wondered just how long it would last until they reawakened. What if she were forced to travel to someplace warmer, where they could potentially grow and multiply inside her?

It felt like choosing between two ways to die. She could pass peacefully on a lab table or be slowly consumed by her own body.

"I— It'll be hard." Having gone through worse didn't make it any less difficult. "But I want to d— do it because I want to be the best— To you and S— Snowy. B— Because I l— love you."

"I know, Slush. I know." Frost nodded, his eyes everywhere but on her. He was afraid that if he saw her looking right at him, he might not be able to get a hold of himself. "Let's not talk about these kinda things tonight. We'll get there when we get there."

Silence boiled between them as the fireplace continued to crackle idly, undeterred by the mood. "H— Honey."

"What is it, Slush?" he answered, gratefully occupying himself with pouring her more tea.

"What would I be if— if I were a piece of… jewelry?"

He gave a small, good-humored smile. "I dunno. Lemme think. How about a friendship bracelet?"

"No." Her speech paused. "Sixteen carats."

He stilled. "Slush, that's terrible." Still, he laughed.

She joined him, her chuckles slow and labored but genuine.

"Slush, what would you be if you were a vegetable?" he asked.

"A salad?" She sure felt like one. "A water sausage."

"No, an olive." He sighed, preemptively feeling the pain. "Because 'ah-luv' you."

She turned, feeling her numerous eyes beginning to roll. "Don't ever speak to me or my sixteen carrots again."


End file.
